De masques et musique
by eponnia
Summary: If Christine and Erik had met before the events at the Opéra Populaire... [Beauty and the Beast AU based on Phantom 25. DISCONTINUED]
1. Chapter 1  Daaé's Return

_De Masques et Musique_

_Of Masks and Music_

CAST: Ramin Karimloo as the Phantom of the Opera; Sierra Boggess as Christine Daaé; Hadley Fraser as Raoul de Chagny; Liz Roberston as Mme. Giry; Daisy Maywood as Meg Giry; Kiera Duffy as Carlotta Giudiceilli; Wynne Evans as Ubaldo Piangi; Barry James as M. André; Gareth Snook as M. Firmin

PAIRING: Erik & Christine

SUMMARY: If Christine and Erik had met before the events at the Opéra Populaire... 25th Anniversary Royal Albert Hall cast. Ramin-Phantom, Sierra-Christine, and Hadley-Raoul.

* * *

><p>CHAPTER I: DAAÉ'S RETURN<p>

A beautiful twenty-year-old young woman sat by the window, watching the rain pour down from the swollen and bruised clouds above. She brushed a dark curl back from her face, and, standing, went to a small chest in her room. Opening the old chest, she picked up a red silk scarf.

Christine Daaé, daughter of Gustave Daaé, a famous violinist, had been given the scarf by her mother. Marie Daaé had given her daughter the scarf, her last gift to Christine. At six years old, the girl clung to the scarf at the funeral, the only color amid the black mourning clothes.

Christine thought back to the time, when, at age twelve, she and her father had visited the sea for the first time. She had, as always, taken the scarf with her, but one day, it slipped from her fingers and blew into the sea. The twelve-year-old had cried out, sure that the last gift from her mother was gone forever. But then someone had dashed into the waves and rescued the scarf from the icy fingers of the ocean. He emerged, soaking wet but triumphant, from the sea, holding the sodden scarf. Christine had run to him, a thousand thanks at her lips. But they died away when she saw him.

He was, at age fourteen and three years older than she was, just out of boyhood and emerging into a more mature phase of life. He made her feel colt-legged and impossibly young. She whispered thanks as she took the scarf from the handsome brown-haired boy. "Thank you, m'sieur," she said softly, avoiding his eyes.

"Raoul de Chagny, son of a _comte_," the handsome boy said with a slight bow, a smile on his lips that intentionally ruined the formality of the introduction.

She felt at ease, and replied proudly, "Christine Daaé, daughter of a violinist." Her eyes sparkled, and her dark curly hair caught the sunlight. She was no exceptional beauty yet at so young an age, but beauty was beginning to blossom.

They had talked about everything and nothing during her stay by the sea. Christine learned that Raoul lived in a manor by the sea with his parents, the Comte and the Comtesse de Chagny, and his older brother Philippe. Raoul, in turn, learned the stories of the North from the violinist Daaé, of gremlins, glass slippers, and Little Lotte and her _L'Ange de la Musique_.

But all too soon, Daaé announced that they were returning to their home in Perros. Christine and Raoul bid each other farewell, promising to write. But, of course, children forget and letters were never sent. Christine waited for weeks for a letter from Raoul, but it never came. At that time, seeing his daughter's sadness, Daaé decided to hire a housekeeper to raise Christine. He hired Madame Valerius, a widow. No one knew her true age, but she looked ninety. Christine took to calling her Maman Valerius, instead of the customary madame. The woman became a mother figure for the girl.

Christine turned at the sound of Maman Valerius entering the room. "Your father is home," the old woman said. Christine dashed to the door, waiting for her father to enter the small apartment.

Gustave Daaé opened the door, soaked to the skin. He carried his prized violin under his coat, his eyes fearful. His gray hair was dripping, and his skin was unnaturally pale.

"_Père_?" Christine said, worried. She took her father's hands in hers and led him to a chair by the fire. "Father, what happened to you?" She took her father's violin and placed it on the table. Daaé was not one to be easily frightened. He was a gentle and kind man, always looking for the good in others. He never raised his voice in anger. Now, however, his eyes were filled with fear.

Daaé grasped his daughter by her upper arms, gazing fearfully into Christine's eyes. "He wants you, Christine!"

Christine exchanged a look with Maman Valerius. "Who... wants me, _père_?" she asked slowly, confusion in her eyes.

"The man! That monster, that demon of a man!" Daaé exclaimed.

"Master, you will feel calmer in a dry set of clothes with dinner on the table," Maman Valerius interjected.

Daaé looked at his sodden clothes, seeming to see the state of his soaking wet clothing for the first time. "Yes," he said absentmindedly. He stood and went to his room to change.

Christine and Maman Valerius finished preparing dinner and set it on the table as Daaé returned. Sitting down at the worn table, they barely touched the simple meal as Daaé continued.

"Who is this man you speak of, père?" Christine asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Daaé sighed. "I met a deformed madman on my return from the Opéra Populaire..."


	2. Chapter 2 The Monster

**CHAPTER II: THE MONSTER**

_**One week prior**_

Daaé left the Opéra Populaire auditorium, violin in hand and eyes shining. He had just auditioned for the orchestra of the opera house, playing _The Resurrection of Lazarus_, and he was confident that he had been accepted.

Daaé saw a tall blonde woman shriek in German to the manager, Monsieur Lefèvre. "But you cannot leave, Ermentrud!" the manager exclaimed to the _prima donna_.

"_Non_! This is final, you _ohne Rückgrat Schnecke_!" She continued to shout in German, and finally stormed out in a fury.

"M'sieur Lefèvre," said a man. Daaé recognized him as Reyer, the orchestra conductor. "Franz Baumgärtner still is very ill. I personally think that when he recovers..." Reyer looked around for anyone could be listening. "I believe that his voice will not be the same, m'sieur."

"I agree," Lefèvre said in a low voice. "And now Ermentrud Adlersflügel has quit. I shall look in to the Italians, Carlotta Guidicelli and Ubaldo Piangi. Hopefully Carlotta will be an improvement from Ermentrud's tantrums."

* * *

><p>That evening, Daaé was caught in a thunderstorm. He urged the horse through the driving rain, and lightening cut through the dark sky. The horse shied at every flash of light, and Daaé knew that if he continued, the horse would bolt and they both could be seriously injured.<p>

The horse stopped, and Daaé looked up to see a tall, imposing iron-wrought gates. Having nowhere else to go, he jumped down from the two-wheeled cart and opened the gate. Daaé led the horse into the courtyard, and, peering through the rain, went to the tall wooden door.

He pounded on the door, trying to make himself heard over the storm, calling, "Anyone home?" He was met with silence. Sighing, Daaé took his horse to a stable.

Though there were ten stalls, only one had an occupant. A huge, imposing white stallion eyed Daaé as he settled his brown horse a couple of stalls down the row. The stallion's nameplate read _César_.

Daaé left the stable and went to the door again. When he knocked, there was no answer. He tried the door handle, and, to his surprise, it yielded. He entered and gasped at the room within.

Through the rain outside, he could not see the size or shape of the house. Upon entering, he realized that he had entered what could have been a king's _châteaux_. The soaring entrance hall was lavishly decorated with dark, rich colors. A huge marble staircase branched off to two other staircases above, reminding Daaé of the staircase of the Opéra Populaire. Lanterns burned, shedding a dimmed light into the hall.

"Anyone home?" Daaé called into the silent _châteaux_.

A woman suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase. She was tall and thin, clad in black. Her black hair was pulled back severely from her pale, serious face.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice filling the room.

"I am Gustave Daaé, madame," he said.

"I am Eléonore Giry," she said coldly, "the housekeeper of the _châteaux_."

"I do not wish to intrude," Daaé said, "but I could not find anywhere else to spend the night. The storm-"

"Monsieur Daaé," Madame Giry said, descending the staircase, "the master of this _châteaux_ will not appreciate your presence in his home. However, I will let you stay until the storm lifts. This way, monsieur." She led him to a room that contained a single high-backed chair and the largest fireplace he had ever seen. A small wooden table stood beside the chair.

Madame Giry spoke briskly. "My daughter and I will provide you with a meal in the morning. Stay in this room at all cost, monsieur. Do not leave until I tell you to." She abruptly turned and left.

Daaé sat in front of the enormous fireplace, grateful for the fire within its depths. Soon he fell asleep, exhausted from the days events.

* * *

><p>Daaé woke in the morning. He caught a glimpse of a pretty, golden-haired eighteen-year-old girl place a silver tray laden with elaborate and exotic food on the table beside the chair. He sat up to properly thank her, and she fled. Daaé heard Madame Giry bark, "Meg!" The girl had to have been the housekeeper's daughter.<p>

After he ate the meal, Daaé stood before the fire. He looked out the doorway, trying to find the housekeeper or her daughter. The entrance hall was empty. Forgetting Madame Giry's instructions, he left the room and ascended the grand flight of stairs. The violinist heard a faint noise emitting from a room, and he looked inside.

A man sat at an organ, shifting through piles of sheet music. He was facing away from the door, a white mask on the organ seat. The man wore an immaculate black suit that hid none of his strength. His powerful presence filled the room - Daaé had no doubt that this was the master of the _châteaux_. The violinist turned to leave, remembering too late Madame Giry's words:

_Stay in this room at all cost, monsieur. Do not leave until I tell you to. _

A board underneath Daaé creaked. The man whirled to face him.

The man was hideous. The right side of his face was hideously scarred, with grotesque deformities that made Daaé's skin crawl. The man did not even seem human - his face was what Daaé pictured a demon possessing. He averted his eyes in horror as the man advanced towards him, the demon-man's eyes filled with hatred and loathing.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, covering his face with his hand. When Daaé did not answer, he repeated, snarling furiously, "Who are you?"

"Gustave Daaé," the violinist said in a shaking voice.

"Why are you here?" the man continued, eyes never leaving the violinist as he searched with his hand for the mask. "Come to stare at the freak? Is that why you are here?"

"I let him in, master."

Madame Giry stood in the doorway. Both Daaé and the hideous man looked up to see her. Meg stood behind her mother, golden hair cascading down her back and blue eyes wide.

"You disobeyed me, Madame Giry," the man snarled, dark eyes dangerous. Meg cowered in fear, but the housekeeper was calm.

"Master, I-" Madame Giry began.

"You have broken the most important rule I have set! No one is to enter here without my express permission! Of all the rules I have set, you break the most important one!"

"Master, I let him in because of the storm-"

"Without me you would be nothing!" the man snarled. "And you repay me by going behind my back?" He glared at the housekeeper. "I will deal with you later."

He turned Daaé, his fury almost palpable in the air. "How did you come here?" the hideous man said.

"I was returning to my daughter to Perros from the Opéra Populaire," Daaé said nervously.

"The Opéra Populaire? What were you doing there?" the man demanded.

"I auditioned for the orchestra," Daaé said nervously.

"Were you accepted?" the man asked.

"Yes, monsieur," Daaé said.

"What do you play?" the man asked, eyes burning.

"The violin," Daaé replied, his terror never diminishing.

"You said you had a daughter," the man said. "Does she have musical talent?"

"Yes, monsieur. She sings like an angel."

"An angel, you say?" the man said. "How old is she?"

"Why do you want to know so much about my daughter?" Daaé demanded.

"I suggest you answer my question, or feel this around your neck," the man warned, holding a noose aloft.

"My daughter is twenty," Daaé said quickly.

"I will give you a choice," the man said. "You will stay here until your dying day and play my compositions. Or," he said, "you go free and your daughter comes to live here for the rest of her days."

"No, not my daughter!" Daaé cried out, horrified.

"I will give you one week to decide. Have no fear, I will be watching you, but you will never see me. Go!" The man turned back to the organ, the noose in his hands, and Daaé fled.


	3. Chapter 3  The Choice

**CHAPTER III: THE CHOICE**

"I will go, Christine. I cannot send you to live with that monster!" Daaé said.

"_Père_, no! Don't sacrifice yourself for my sake!" Christine begged her father, tears coming to her eyes.

"The man gave you a week to decide, master," Maman Valerius said. "Rest, Monsieur Daaé."

"Listen to her, père," Christine said, clasping his hands in hers. "Rest."

* * *

><p>In the morning, Christine woke but did not stir for a moment. Only her eyes moved as she watched the sun climb into the sky. She sat up, her dark curls falling around her shoulders, and stood at the sound of Maman Valerius preparing for the day.<p>

She went into the main room. "Is my father awake?" she asked as she sat at the table.

"Not yet, which is unusual for him," the old woman said. "I'll wake him." Maman Valerius went to Daaé's room and knocked on the door. "Master?" she said. There was no answer. "M'sieur Daaé?" she said loudly. When she received no answer, she opened the door.

Her scream filled the apartment.

Maman Valerius dragged Christine back from the door. "He's dead!" she cried, pulling the twenty-year-old away from the door. "Don't go in, Christine!" Maman Valerius said as she restrained the nearly hysterical young woman. Christine sank into a chair, weeping.

* * *

><p>Christine stood with Maman Valerius as the last guest left the gravesite. Her father's marble tomb was cold and unfeeling, unlike Gustave Daaé's kind demeanor. The doctor had said that he had died of a heart attack.<p>

Christine was clad in a simple black mourning outfit, a sable hood covering her long dark curls. She turned to the old housekeeper. "What will you do now?" she asked.

"What do you mean? I will be with you, as always," Maman Valerius said.

"I am going to the man _père_ spoke of."

"Christine, no! Don't sacrifice the rest of your life for the whim of a madman!" Maman Valerius exclaimed.

"I have nowhere else to go," Christine said resolutely.

"Christine Daaé."

They turned as a woman approached. Clad in black, she was tall and thin, with pale skin, black hair, and serious gray eyes. "I am Madame Giry," the woman said.

"I am coming with you to your master. I will be a moment," Christine said. Madame Giry nodded and went to a carriage pulled by a pair of sleek horses.

Christine turned back to Maman Valerius. "Thank you for everything," she said, embracing the woman who had raised her. "You may have the apartment and everything within." Christine forced herself to pull away and went to the carriage. She joined Madame Giry in the coach, and the driver urged the horses forward. Christine watched Maman Valerius and her father's grave until they were lost from sight.

* * *

><p>They travelled in silence for four days, stopping only to rest the horses. Christine and Madame Giry went into inns to change. The twenty-year-old fell asleep occasionally, and the older woman provided her with a meal when she woke.<p>

Christine looked out the window on the fourth day to see a towering _châteaux_. Madame Giry broke the silence. "This is your home," she said. The carriage entered the imposing gates and into the courtyard.

"Do not anger the master," Madame Giry warned Christine. "Speak only when spoken to." They exited the carriage and went into the enormous _châteaux_. "Wait here," the woman said as she ascended the grand flight of stairs. Christine was left alone.

Organ music began to fill the _châteaux_. The notes were discordant but strangely beautiful, and the melody was haunting.* Unable to bear her curiosity, Christine went up the stairs. She followed the music to a doorway and looked in.

A man sat at an organ, facing away from her. He wore an immaculate black suit, a white mask on the right side of his face. He turned, as if sensing her presence, and they gazed into each other's eyes.

He was handsome, she could see, with a strong jaw line, pale skin, black hair and dark eyes. The suit he wore hid none of his strength, and his presence filled the room.

"Who are you?" he asked. She was struck by the power of his voice.

"Christine Daaé," she answered.

He stood. "I am Erik Dolan, owner of this _châteaux_," he said. "Welcome to my home, Christine," he said. He stepped forward and took her hand in his. To her surprise, he bowed to her. She curtsied, stunned. This man was not the raving mad lunatic her father had spoken of. He was powerful, a compelling air about him, and though he was a force to be reckoned with, she was not terrified of him.

Erik gazed at Christine. She was not what he had expected. He had imagined the violinist's daughter to be homely and bony, an awkward young woman barely out of childhood. But now that she stood before him, he was awed by her beauty.

She was beautiful. The twenty-year-old possessed high cheekbones, wide, intelligent brown eyes, and skin pale enough to rival the mask he wore. Her dark curls fell down in waves down her back, catching the sunlight from a window and momentarily causing her hair to become burnished copper. Christine was tall and graceful, her limbs elegant. Her mourning clothes fit perfectly around her slender frame.

Erik mentally shook himself. He must put into place his carefully arranged plans - discover if she did have the voice of an angel, as her father had said. The thought of her father caused him to demand, "Where is your father? Rallying the villagers of Perros to rescue the fair beauty from the clutches of the hideous beast?"

Christine stiffened. She brought herself up to her full height and looked him in the eye. "My father is dead. He died five days ago." She gazed at him, her eyes and stance daring him to speak ill of the dead.

To her surprise, he turned away. "I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly. He knew he was the cause of Daaé's death. He should have been more careful in his questioning of the violinist. Erik had been so desperate for someone to sing his music that he had raged at Daaé, his intense desire to hear his songs brought to life consuming him and over-riding his common sense. Erik knew he must never show that side of himself to Christine at all cost. It would terrify her. He loathed himself when he returned from his raging - there was no telling how she would react.

"Your father said you have the voice of an angel," he continued, still facing away from her. "Do you enjoy music?"

"Music is my life," she said slowly, unwilling to share her deepest thoughts with a man she had met moments before. But, after seeing the passion with which he played the organ, she hoped that he would understand her love of music.

"Music is in my blood and in my soul," Erik said, wondering why he was admitting his most private thoughts with her. "I breathe music." He turned to her. "May I hear you sing?"

"I will sing," she said quietly. Christine did not know why she agreed. This was the man who, as far as she knew, caused her father's death - and now she was singing for him. But everything in her told her not to refuse.

"Sing a scale, if you would," he said, playing the scale in the key of C major. She sang the notes with perfect clarity and tone. He took her up the keys, her voice soaring and filing the room. As he played, he gave her advice on technique. "Stand up straighter," he said. "Feet apart, shoulders back, chin up. Don't breath with your chest, breathe lower. Feel your ribcage expand."

He played higher and higher, and she continued to sing, hitting every note. Erik realized that she was perfect for a lead role in the opera that he was composing.

Finally he stopped. Erik gazed at her in wonder. "Do you realize what you just did?" he asked. At her confused expression, he continued.

"You sang an E, two octaves above middle C. You sang perfectly what most women will never dream of singing in their entire lives." They stood in silence for a moment, absorbing his announcement.

Madame Giry entered the room. "Master-" she began.

"Madame Giry, take Christine to the east wing," he said. "I am sure she is tired after the journey." After thinking for a moment, he said, "The Persian room, Madame Giry."

"Yes, master," the housekeeper said. "This way, Mademoiselle Daaé," she said. Christine followed Madame Giry down the hall, leaving Erik alone.

He shifted through his compositions, searching for the one he had been playing earlier. When he found it, he opened the score and began to play with a passion that he had never felt before.

* * *

><p>*NOTE: The song that Erik was playing on the organ was the overture of <em>The Phantom of the Opera. <em>It's something I would imagine him composing and playing on the organ in the Paris Opera House.


	4. Chapter 4  The Music Box

**CHAPTER IV: THE MUSIC BOX**

* * *

><p>Madame Giry led Christine to a richly decorated room. It was covered in blood reds, dusky gold's, midnight blues, and royal purples. The housekeeper opened a tall wardrobe. "These are for your use, by the master's orders," Madame Giry said.<p>

Christine stared at the magnificent clothes within. She had never thought in her wildest dreams that she could ever touch gowns of such high quality. They seemed fit for a queen, not someone like her.

A golden-haired girl entered the room. "Meg!" Madame Giry said. "This is Christine Daaé, the master's guest." Turning to Christine, she said, "This is my daughter, Margaret. She and I work here for the master."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Daaé," the girl said. The eighteen-year-old was pretty, with long golden curls, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. "Please, call me Meg."

"Call me Christine, then, Meg," the twenty-year-old said.

"Meg, help Christine out of her mourning clothes into something more comfortable," Madame Giry ordered. "I will ask the master if he has any more instructions." She left, shutting the door behind her.

Meg went to the wardrobe and pulled out a white dressing gown*. Laying it on the bed, she began to unlace Christine's mourning dress, the pair standing behind a dressing screen.

After a moment of silence, Christine asked, "How did you come to work here?" she asked quietly.

Meg paused. She slowly began to continue to unlace the dress as she spoke. "It is not my story to tell," she said, "but I will tell you this. Eight years ago, my mother and I came into the master's service. I grew up here." She helped Christine out of the black mourning dress and picked up the dressing gown. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you any more." She helped Christine into the dressing gown.

A knock sounded on the door. "Come in," Meg called from behind the screen.

Madame Giry entered. "Christine, the master wanted me to give you this." She held out a wooden music box. A whimsical, wrinkled brown monkey figurine sat on the lid, dressed in Persian robes and holding a pair of cymbals. Christine took the music box carefully, gazing at it in wonder. Madame Giry handed her a note, and the housekeeper and her daughter left Christine alone.

She placed the music box on the bedside table and gently turned the handle. A strange and beautiful tune emitted from the music box as the monkey's arms moved mechanically back and forth as it played the cymbals. Christine read the note that had accompanied the gift.

_Christine, _

_This music box was a gift from a friend in Persia. I hope you enjoy it._

_Erik_

The music box began to wind down, and she turned the handle again. As the tune began to play once more, Christine fell asleep, the monkey figurine watching over her, playing the cymbals to the strange tune.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Christine sat up in the enormous bed. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and all the memories assailed her at once.<p>

_Her father's death... The organ... The music box... Erik..._

She held the blanket close to her, startled, as Meg entered the room. "Good morning," the golden-haired young woman with a smile. "The master will begin to give you voice lessons after breakfast," she added. Meg pulled out a beautiful blue dress embroidered in white** from the wardrobe as Christine brushed her long dark hair. Meg laced Christine into the dress, and after arranging her dark hair in loose curls around her shoulders, Meg took Christine to the dining room.

Erik sat alone, lost in thought, at the end of the long table adorned with candlesticks. Christine paused before entering. She hoped that he was not planning to revoke his decision to let her stay in his _châteaux_.

"Go on," Meg said, giving Christine a gentle push towards the doorway. The twenty-year-old squared her shoulders and entered the dining room.

Erik looked up as Christine came in the room. The blue dress contrasted perfectly with her pale skin and dark curls that fell to her waist. "Christine," he said.

"Good morning, Erik," she said with a smile. After she had finished breakfast, she accompanied him to the room where she had first met him the day before. The organ stood in the middle of the room, flanked by tall, iron-wrought candelabras.

"We shall continue from yesterday's lesson," Erik said, sitting down at the organ. "Stand before the mirror, if you would." She obeyed, and he continued. "I want you to see what you look like when you sing. You can put more emotion into a song when you can see your reactions." He began to play the scales, and she sang, her voice soaring. Erik stopped before he reached the extremely high notes she had sang the day before. "Don't strain your voice. Just because you can sing that high doesn't mean you should sing it daily."

He gave her a score, and she gazed at the notes. The title read _The Point of No Return_. "This a duet from my opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_," Erik explained. "For now, I will sing Don Juan's part, and you will sing the part of Aminta. I will not be performing this, but I would like you to perform, if you are willing." As she began to agree, he held up a hand. "Don't agree before you have heard the music or lyrics." He began to play the melody, and sang Don Juan's part.

Christine was struck by Erik's voice. It surrounded her and filled her; she could not take her eyes from the masked man before her. His voice was powerful and made her heart soar. Then he stopped, and she realized that she had to sing her part in the duet. Christine did not take her eyes from the score, worried that she would make a mistake. But she found the melody was somewhat repetitive, and it became easier as she continued. Then Erik joined her, singing as Don Juan as she sang as Aminta. Their voices fit perfectly together, filling the room. The song ended, and they stood in silence, gazing at each other, the duet echoing in their minds. Christine forced herself to breathe slowly, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. The air between them was taut with the emotion of the song. She brought her hand up to her chest to calm her swirling emotions.

"That will be enough for today," he said, forcing himself to speak evenly. Christine fled, startled by the intense passion of the duet, leaving Erik alone.

* * *

><p><strong>*NOTE: This is the dressing gown that Christine wears in <em>Angel of Music<em>, _The Mirror/Angel of Music (Reprise)_, _The Phantom of the Opera_, and _The Music of the Night_ in the stage production of _The Phantom of the Opera_. Currently in this plot, she was just a peasant a few days ago. There's no way she could afford the dressing gown. In _The Phantom of the Opera_ plot, as a chorus girl and then opera singer, she does not have time or money to commission a wardrobe. Therefore, why not have this be amongst the attire she is given?**

****NOTE (continued): This is the blue dress that Christine wears in _Notes II/Twisted Every Way_, _Rehearsal for Don Juan Triumphant_, _Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again_, and _Wandering Child/Bravo, Monsieur_. (See the above note for an explanation for why she has this dress now)**


	5. Chapter 5  The Opera House

CHAPTER V: THE OPERA HOUSE

* * *

><p>A few weeks later, Erik gave Christine a score from <em>Don Juan Triumphant<em>. He began to play the aria, and she followed as best as she could.

Meg burst into the room. "Master, there's a man outside!"

"What?" Erik said, leaving the organ and approaching Meg. "Who is he?"

"I don't know. He is demanding to see you!" Meg cried.

"Where is Madame Giry?"

"She's trying to make him go, but he won't leave until he's seen you. He has a gun, master!"

"Meg, Christine, stay in here," he ordered. "Don't leave at all cost until I or Madame Giry tells you to leave. Bar the door behind me." Erik left, eyes serious. Christine and Meg put the candelabra in the door handle to lock the door. They went behind the organ and waited in trepidation.

"M'sieur, you cannot see the master," Madame Giry said firmly. The wild-eyed man waved the gun, and the housekeeper quickly moved away.

"I have a score to settle with him!" the man shouted.

"What are you doing here?"

Both Madame Giry and the man froze as Erik's voice echoed in the _châteaux_. His voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, and the owner of the voice was nowhere in sight.

"Come and face me, coward!" the man shouted, turning to face where he thought Erik was hiding in the shadows.

"What are you doing here?" Erik repeated furiously, his voice coming from the room to the right of the staircase. "Our score was settled long ago!"

"Come out, devil-face!" the man shouted.

"Christine and Meg are in the organ room," Erik whispered to Madame Giry, throwing his voice so it seemed he was speaking directly behind her.

"I'm over here!" Erik said, from near the front door. The man turned to face him, holding the gun aloft. Madame Giry took the opportunity to run up the stairs.

"I'm over here!" Erik said from the man's left. The man fired at random.

"Over here!" The man turned to his right, a gunshot filling the _châteaux_.

"I'm here! Keep searching!" The man raced into a room.

"I'm over here!" The man ran back into the entrance hall, shooting the gun.

"Face me, coward!" the man shouted, firing the gun. The shot hit a marble statue. "You phantom! Ghost! Walking corpse!"

"Leave now, or you will never see the sun rise again!" Erik warned the man, his voice filling the _châteaux_.

"I'll kill you!" the man shouted. "Coward!" Another shot fired. This time, the bullet found Erik, though the man was unaware of his success. Erik clutched his bleeding shoulder, holding back a cry of pain.

The chandelier attached to the ceiling began to shake. The man looked up, and screamed as the chandelier came loose and hurtled towards him. The explosive sound of broken glass filled the _châteaux_.

Erik walked down the stairs slowly towards the pile of shattered glass that covered the man's body. He carefully approached the body, and felt for a pulse. There was none. Erik lifted the body from the glass and dragged it outside. He pulled it to the gate and left it in the shadows to deal with later.

Christine and Meg clung to each other in terror as Madame Giry stood over them. There was the sound of footsteps outside the door. "Christine..." The three women raced to the door and unbarred it to let Erik in.

"Master-" Madame Giry began.

"He is dead," Erik said. Christine froze, her face draining of color.

"We heard breaking glass-" Meg began.

"We will need a new chandelier," Erik said. He took his hand away from his left shoulder, wincing in pain, his hand covered in blood.

"Erik! What happened to you?" Christine cried.

"The fool had better aim than I gave him credit for," Erik said, jaw tense as Madame Giry and Christine helped him to a chair. Meg raced to find bandages, and Madame Giry followed.

"How did you throw your voice?" Christine asked as she helped Erik remove his coat. She bit back a gasp at the sight of his left shoulder.

"I'm a ventriloquist," Erik said, his face contorted in pain. "A... friend taught me in Persia. Here," he said, handing Christine a knife. "Cut the material with this." She carefully cut Erik's shirt with the knife to expose the wound, and placed the knife on a table. When she returned, she looked at his shoulder once more. Christine caught a glimpse of scars covering his shoulder, and saw that his back was also covered in scars. She brought a hand up to her mouth at the sight, horrified.

"What happened?" she whispered. "You look as if you've been whipped hundreds of times..."

"I was once a freak in a circus. The owner amused the crowds by flogging me to shreds," Erik said bitterly, his eyes blazing with anger at the memories. Christine leaned against the organ, her stomach turning. She looked up in relief as Meg and Madame Giry returned.

The housekeeper held a pair of tweezers. "I just boiled them in hot water," she said. "I've had enough medical training to know what to do. I'm taking the bullet out." Erik tensed and braced himself, gripping the edge of the organ with his right hand. Meg and Christine watched as Madame Giry gently inspected the wound. Erik did not make a sound. Madame Giry carefully removed the bullet, and placed it in a handkerchief. "Meg, Christine, help me dress the wound," she said. The two young women handed her everything she requested, and soon Erik's left shoulder was heavily bandaged. "Master, you need rest," she said. Christine and Madame Giry helped Erik to his feet. "Meg, prepare a meal in the kitchen. I will join you once we get the master settled." Meg raced down to the kitchen as Christine and Madame Giry helped Erik to his room. They helped him carefully lay on his enormous bed, avoiding pressure on his left shoulder. "Don't play any instrument with your left hand for three weeks," Madame Giry said firmly. "You need to rest your shoulder. I will prepare a meal for you, master."

"Thank you, Madame Giry," Erik said. The housekeeper nodded and left Christine and Erik alone.

"Thank you, Erik," she said quietly. He turned slightly to face her. "If you hadn't stopped him..." She looked away, fear in her eyes as she imagined what could have happened.

"He was an old enemy," Erik said. "I thought he had died years ago. But he won't pose a threat any longer." She gave a small smile, grateful for his words.

* * *

><p>A month later, Christine, Meg and Madame Giry adjoined in the entrance hall at Erik's summons. He stood at the foot of the stairs, his expression grave. "We are leaving the <em>châteaux<em>."

Meg and Madame Giry immediately began protesting. He held up a hand, saying, "I bought this _châteaux_ to stay away from the world. But now the world has been paying one too many visits. We are going to the Opéra Populaire."

"The Opéra Populaire?" Christine asked.

"I can arrange everything when we arrive. I have a home... in the opera house. If you three wish to rent an apartment, that can be arranged. Christine, you have excelled in your training. You and Meg both will be definite candidates for the chorus. Your ballet, Meg, has improved drastically. You both will undoubtedly be hired in the chorus. Madame Giry," Erik said, turning to the housekeeper, "the opera house is, as far as I know, still searching for a ballet instructor." He turned back to face the three women. "We will leave in two weeks."

* * *

><p>A few weeks later, four figures approached the renowned Opéra Populaire in Paris. Christine gazed in wonder at the opera house as she walked beside Meg, Erik, and Madame Giry. Street lamps illuminated the gold leaf on the impressive building and cast a glow on the white marble.<p>

"My father helped build this," Erik said quietly. Christine turned to him, but before she could ask a question, he stopped. Erik gave Madame Giry a thick wad of money. "Here's for the down payment for the rent of an apartment."

Madame Giry led Meg and Christine to a tall building with a sign proclaiming that an apartment was available for rent. Madame Giry knocked on the door, and a man answered. "Yes?" he said.

"May we rent the apartment you are offering?" Madame Giry asked.

"Forty _francs_ a month," the man said, eyes glinting with greed.

"Here," she said, holding out some money. "May we see the room?" The man nodded and led the three women upstairs.

"Here it is," he said, opening the door. Madame Giry, Meg, and Christine filed into the room. To their surprise, it was larger than they expected. A table stood in the middle of the main room, a small bed against the wall, and a doorway led to a small room that contained a larger bed. Meg and Madame Giry went into the other room, while Christine looked out the window into the night.

Erik descended through the passageways to the lake below the opera house. He stepped onto the gondola, and, gripping the pole, began his trek across the black water.

When he reached the island, Erik looked at his home that he had left years before. He docked the gondola and stepped onto the island. Walking to the organ, he ran his hands over the keys, remembering the hours he had spent composing. Erik lit a match and began to light the candles that filled the island. Once every candle was lit, Erik went to the mirror. The glass reflected his face and still allowed him to see through it; he had created it years ago. A mannequin stood behind the mirror, clad in a wedding gown. Erik had made the mannequin in the image of a woman that he had seen in a dream decades before, but he realized that the mannequin resembled Christine. He quickly covered the mirror with a length of crimson material. Erik turned away, putting his discovery out of his mind.

He returned to the organ and sat down before it. Erik began to play, composing as he went. He lost himself in the music and played well into the night.

In the opera house above, a stagehand stopped as he heard an organ being played. "It must be a ghost..." Joseph Buquet said into the empty air.


End file.
